The Break-Up
Often times I find days going by where I don’t write anything in my blog. As seems to happen often in my life, days turn into weeks. Weeks turn into months. And before you know it, time has once again passed you by.
It’s not that the past few months have been uneventful. Far from it. But when you’re the poster-child for adult-ADHD (I know, poster child for an adult disease. An oxymoron for a real-life moron!) sometimes too much to write about is worse then having nothing to write about at all. I find that heartbreak often tends to motivate me to write. Many a breakup have caused me to sit down at the computer and start drilling away at the keyboard.
And it’s today, after a particularly sad breakup that I sit down to finally write what’s in my heart today, and a little bit about the journey that brought me here.
We want love to be perfect, and it just sadly never is. Sometimes it’s imperfections are glaringly obvious, and sometimes they just nag away at us, somewhere below the surface.
The last time I felt actual love in my heart for a boy was "Shane." The relationship started off almost like a fairy tale (more a Grim Fairy’s Tale then a Grimm’s Fairy Tale). The torrid summer love affair with the boy from Italy. In typical Libra fashion, I fell in love and I fell hard. We exchanged rings, in one of the most magical moments of my entire life, and committed ourselves to each other and then sang duets from Moulin Rouge. Silly, cheesy, ridiculous ... I loved every minute of it. And I felt every minute of it.
Am I naive for getting swept up in the moment? Was it the rose-colored glasses that ultimately doomed the relationship? Did I make a mistake by not fighting harder to be SURE my decisions were correct there?
I have so many questions but no answers. I know that by the time "Shane" returned to Italy, I’d already begun to shutdown emotionally.
It was the beginning of November, when I got the first job I interviewed for, at horror-themed restaurant Jekyll & Hyde.
Immediately I picked up on what was a wonderful work dynamic. The servers all seemed to genuinely support each other, which in my few years working in restaurants has been quite rare. I found myself loving not only the co-workers, but the work atmosphere, the management
team and eventually most everything about the job.
But I was still empty in so many other ways. I was depressed often, miserable at where I was living, and had few friends that I actually spent any time with. (At first it was circumstance, but later I began to chose being alone). In November, I felt my emotions numbing more. The waking hours were for working, or engaging in some form of dubochery. I didn’t have friends, but there were people I partied with. I’d learned a tough lesson in October about trusting the wrong person, and was beginning to associate my new social patterns with that event.
It was the night before Thanksgiving when I made another mistake. There was a cute 19-year old server at work who I was fairly certain was gay, but hadn’t actually spoken much to. (We’ll call him "Scrappy-Doo" or "Scrappy" for the blog. I can only offer as an explanation that if you knew him, you’d understand the comparison.) "Scrappy" and I had our first real conversation after leaving work the night before Thanksgiving. On the walk to the subway the talk turned to "dubochery" (the chemical form, not the sexual form - though really one is often the road to the other) We ended up "partying", sharing stories and eventually sitting naked together. (Obla dee, obla dah!) I’d decided while we were getting on the subway to my "dwelling" that I wasn’t going to develop any sort of fake feelings for some 19 year old kid just to fill the emptiness I was aware was growing inside of me.
"Can I ask you a question?" He said, looking up at me doe-eyed, in the middle of our interesting (to say the least) evening. "Would you ever consider dating me?"
A mixture of feelings swirled around inside me as I pondered the question. I was lonely. I didn’t feel attractive. I had no idea what I wanted to do next with my life. I wanted someone to just make me feel good for a little while since I didn’t seem to be able to accomplish it on my own. And here was this cute (the eyes are dreamy - and the butt - to die for!) 19 year old, who wanted to know if I was interested in HIM.
I told him that yes, there were many things about him that I would find attractive in a potential boyfriend. There is a certain appeal to someone who might not be as jaded and bitter as those of us old queens, who have already "been-there/done-that" at least a thousand times. "Scrappy" was also energetic, funny, charismatic and I felt good spending time with him that night. Once again, in order to feel good, and relieve pain in the present, I made a choice that I knew would probably not bode well for me in the future. I allowed myself to play "I have a boyfriend" for the night with "Scrappy."
Around 1am he actually called his mother and asked her if I could join them for Thanksgiving dinner. We discussed that I would have to meet his friends. We threw hypothetical "relationship questions" at each other, and I felt as though I was certainly not embarking on the "Luke & Laura" of gay relationships, but that perhaps this might be the start of something that might be nice. A boy to date. To smile with, and go to movies and shoot pool, and do stupid gay things. Someone to spend some time learning about, and getting to know ... and who knows?
Clothes were shed. Conversation turned to sex and dating. Relationships were discussed, secrets were shared.... Many factors were at play, but the mistake I’d promised not to make was made.
I’d opened up to someone and made myself vulnerable, and all but invited the rejection that was
soon to follow.
It wasn’t his fault anymore then mine. A lack of total sobriety contributed to both of our mistakes... as did probably a loneliness from both sides. I remember one specific moment though, when little "Scrappy" was lying on my chest ... and for just a moment enjoyed one of those beautiful moments, where you’re not just holding "him" ... you’re holding each other. It was over almost as quickly as the evening was, but it was a wonderful, albeit fleeting moment.
Thanksgiving morning I spent sleeping, not having dinner at the "Doo’s". When I sensed sobriety was changing the mood, I let "Scrappy" off the hook, and said I’d rather spend Thanksgiving catching up on my sleep for work that evening. I found out later my sister was in town and was only a short walk away, watching the Macy’s parade. I spent the day doing what, then, was my favorite of all activities. Sleeping. "Scrappy" and I both worked that evening. Those who came in early were treated to a Thanksgiving dinner. Once again, I traded mine for an extra 30 minutes of sleep. "Scrappy" and I worked on the same floor that evening, but barely spoke to each other. There was no great love lost ... but I’d felt some of my pride was. I wondered if it wasn’t more then just pride, but not until a few months later realized that this event was kind of the last emotional straw for me. I ran dry soon after that.
December was perhaps one of the roughest months I’ve had in my 29 years. I’ve been working on a blog entry for 3 weeks now, about all of the feelings and emotions that came out of what happened that month. It was a tough month, full of loss in so many ways. Loss that eventually led to a loss of self that I find myself still trying to recover.
Work was extremely understanding during my rough December. Towards the beginning of January, I thought that the pain was diminishing. In actuality I think I was just numbing myself more. By "numbing" I mean so many things. Certainly I was self-medicating a lot during December and January. By January, I found myself hurting less but also feeling very little of anything. Nothing chemical, paternal, emotional or sexual would stimulate any real feeling in me. I was spending even more time alone.
Towards the end of January, I began rebelling against the instinct to isolate myself. A mid-January work Christmas party was the beginning of another chapter. A new friend, a kiss and a key started to change my perspective on things. I still didn’t "feel" much, but I was building up a determination to make change.
Friends helped with that change. In different ways, and many of those friends were friends from work. The job that I loved and was fighting so hard to keep had provided me much of the only "happiness" that I’ve had the past few months.
Ironically, in the past week and change, there had started to be an upswing. I found myself feeling hurt and stupid regarding one choice but for the first time in months, my strength seemed to be coming back. I didn’t stop, or let myself sink further into depression. I kept on with what I needed to do, worked a hell week at the restaurant, while balancing other responsibilities and refocusing myself for my next step. These events are all ironic, because as things were finally looking up - the breakup was just around the corner.
Tuesday night, a ridiculous accident (that I was sadly completely sober for) ended up costing me a large chunk of one of my front teeth. I was mortified but immediately began trying to problem solve. I called friends for dentist refferals, scoured the internet and worked to get my weekend shifts at the restaurant covered so that I could escape to PA and hope that my dad would foot my dental bill, so that I could show my face in public anytime in the forseeable future.
This morning was a rough morning of fighting to get into see a dentist, getting an evaluation on the damage of my tooth, dealing with the pain, playing phone tag with my father and trying to find shift coverage for a few days. By noon, I was exhausted and in pain and decided too take a nap.
I set my alarm for 2:30 in order to make a 4pm sales meeting. When I awoke a few minutes early (2:19) I had a text message. The message was sent at 1, reminding me not to miss the sales meeting - at 2.
In the end, what was honestly a pretty understandable mistake (I’m missing HALF A FRONT FUCKING TOOTH AND AM TAKING PAIN KILLERS TILL I CAN SEE A GODDAMN DENTIST, FOR FUCKS SAKE) ended up causing my breakup ... the loss of the one thing I’ve truly loved during this long cold winter - my job at Jekyll & Hyde.
There’s so much more to be written about the past few months, and I plan to do a lot of it. I’m retreating to PA, to get my tooth fixed, and spend some time taking care of unresolved family issues. Neither sounds like a great time, but both are necessary in order for me to move on to what comes next.
What DOES come next?
I feel like what I need right now is something strong and solid. I need to be able to count on something. I need to find a way to find myself again. And then perhaps find happiness.
Thankfully even my life has a few constants. I have the best friend in the entire world. That’s a pretty great constant and I think some time spent with him might be just what the doctor ordered. It may be another form of self-medicating, but certainly a much healthier one.
Besides, just as a broken tooth requires attention and care to relieve the pain, so does a broken heart. And whether it's a whirlwind romance with a foreigner, a one-night-relationship with a cute 19 year old, or a 4 month relationship with a job you loved, when it comes right down to it - breaking up IS hard to do.
It’s not that the past few months have been uneventful. Far from it. But when you’re the poster-child for adult-ADHD (I know, poster child for an adult disease. An oxymoron for a real-life moron!) sometimes too much to write about is worse then having nothing to write about at all. I find that heartbreak often tends to motivate me to write. Many a breakup have caused me to sit down at the computer and start drilling away at the keyboard.
And it’s today, after a particularly sad breakup that I sit down to finally write what’s in my heart today, and a little bit about the journey that brought me here.
We want love to be perfect, and it just sadly never is. Sometimes it’s imperfections are glaringly obvious, and sometimes they just nag away at us, somewhere below the surface.
The last time I felt actual love in my heart for a boy was "Shane." The relationship started off almost like a fairy tale (more a Grim Fairy’s Tale then a Grimm’s Fairy Tale). The torrid summer love affair with the boy from Italy. In typical Libra fashion, I fell in love and I fell hard. We exchanged rings, in one of the most magical moments of my entire life, and committed ourselves to each other and then sang duets from Moulin Rouge. Silly, cheesy, ridiculous ... I loved every minute of it. And I felt every minute of it.
Am I naive for getting swept up in the moment? Was it the rose-colored glasses that ultimately doomed the relationship? Did I make a mistake by not fighting harder to be SURE my decisions were correct there?
I have so many questions but no answers. I know that by the time "Shane" returned to Italy, I’d already begun to shutdown emotionally.
It was the beginning of November, when I got the first job I interviewed for, at horror-themed restaurant Jekyll & Hyde.
Immediately I picked up on what was a wonderful work dynamic. The servers all seemed to genuinely support each other, which in my few years working in restaurants has been quite rare. I found myself loving not only the co-workers, but the work atmosphere, the management
team and eventually most everything about the job.
But I was still empty in so many other ways. I was depressed often, miserable at where I was living, and had few friends that I actually spent any time with. (At first it was circumstance, but later I began to chose being alone). In November, I felt my emotions numbing more. The waking hours were for working, or engaging in some form of dubochery. I didn’t have friends, but there were people I partied with. I’d learned a tough lesson in October about trusting the wrong person, and was beginning to associate my new social patterns with that event.
It was the night before Thanksgiving when I made another mistake. There was a cute 19-year old server at work who I was fairly certain was gay, but hadn’t actually spoken much to. (We’ll call him "Scrappy-Doo" or "Scrappy" for the blog. I can only offer as an explanation that if you knew him, you’d understand the comparison.) "Scrappy" and I had our first real conversation after leaving work the night before Thanksgiving. On the walk to the subway the talk turned to "dubochery" (the chemical form, not the sexual form - though really one is often the road to the other) We ended up "partying", sharing stories and eventually sitting naked together. (Obla dee, obla dah!) I’d decided while we were getting on the subway to my "dwelling" that I wasn’t going to develop any sort of fake feelings for some 19 year old kid just to fill the emptiness I was aware was growing inside of me.
"Can I ask you a question?" He said, looking up at me doe-eyed, in the middle of our interesting (to say the least) evening. "Would you ever consider dating me?"
A mixture of feelings swirled around inside me as I pondered the question. I was lonely. I didn’t feel attractive. I had no idea what I wanted to do next with my life. I wanted someone to just make me feel good for a little while since I didn’t seem to be able to accomplish it on my own. And here was this cute (the eyes are dreamy - and the butt - to die for!) 19 year old, who wanted to know if I was interested in HIM.
I told him that yes, there were many things about him that I would find attractive in a potential boyfriend. There is a certain appeal to someone who might not be as jaded and bitter as those of us old queens, who have already "been-there/done-that" at least a thousand times. "Scrappy" was also energetic, funny, charismatic and I felt good spending time with him that night. Once again, in order to feel good, and relieve pain in the present, I made a choice that I knew would probably not bode well for me in the future. I allowed myself to play "I have a boyfriend" for the night with "Scrappy."
Around 1am he actually called his mother and asked her if I could join them for Thanksgiving dinner. We discussed that I would have to meet his friends. We threw hypothetical "relationship questions" at each other, and I felt as though I was certainly not embarking on the "Luke & Laura" of gay relationships, but that perhaps this might be the start of something that might be nice. A boy to date. To smile with, and go to movies and shoot pool, and do stupid gay things. Someone to spend some time learning about, and getting to know ... and who knows?
Clothes were shed. Conversation turned to sex and dating. Relationships were discussed, secrets were shared.... Many factors were at play, but the mistake I’d promised not to make was made.
I’d opened up to someone and made myself vulnerable, and all but invited the rejection that was
soon to follow.
It wasn’t his fault anymore then mine. A lack of total sobriety contributed to both of our mistakes... as did probably a loneliness from both sides. I remember one specific moment though, when little "Scrappy" was lying on my chest ... and for just a moment enjoyed one of those beautiful moments, where you’re not just holding "him" ... you’re holding each other. It was over almost as quickly as the evening was, but it was a wonderful, albeit fleeting moment.
Thanksgiving morning I spent sleeping, not having dinner at the "Doo’s". When I sensed sobriety was changing the mood, I let "Scrappy" off the hook, and said I’d rather spend Thanksgiving catching up on my sleep for work that evening. I found out later my sister was in town and was only a short walk away, watching the Macy’s parade. I spent the day doing what, then, was my favorite of all activities. Sleeping. "Scrappy" and I both worked that evening. Those who came in early were treated to a Thanksgiving dinner. Once again, I traded mine for an extra 30 minutes of sleep. "Scrappy" and I worked on the same floor that evening, but barely spoke to each other. There was no great love lost ... but I’d felt some of my pride was. I wondered if it wasn’t more then just pride, but not until a few months later realized that this event was kind of the last emotional straw for me. I ran dry soon after that.
December was perhaps one of the roughest months I’ve had in my 29 years. I’ve been working on a blog entry for 3 weeks now, about all of the feelings and emotions that came out of what happened that month. It was a tough month, full of loss in so many ways. Loss that eventually led to a loss of self that I find myself still trying to recover.
Work was extremely understanding during my rough December. Towards the beginning of January, I thought that the pain was diminishing. In actuality I think I was just numbing myself more. By "numbing" I mean so many things. Certainly I was self-medicating a lot during December and January. By January, I found myself hurting less but also feeling very little of anything. Nothing chemical, paternal, emotional or sexual would stimulate any real feeling in me. I was spending even more time alone.
Towards the end of January, I began rebelling against the instinct to isolate myself. A mid-January work Christmas party was the beginning of another chapter. A new friend, a kiss and a key started to change my perspective on things. I still didn’t "feel" much, but I was building up a determination to make change.
Friends helped with that change. In different ways, and many of those friends were friends from work. The job that I loved and was fighting so hard to keep had provided me much of the only "happiness" that I’ve had the past few months.
Ironically, in the past week and change, there had started to be an upswing. I found myself feeling hurt and stupid regarding one choice but for the first time in months, my strength seemed to be coming back. I didn’t stop, or let myself sink further into depression. I kept on with what I needed to do, worked a hell week at the restaurant, while balancing other responsibilities and refocusing myself for my next step. These events are all ironic, because as things were finally looking up - the breakup was just around the corner.
Tuesday night, a ridiculous accident (that I was sadly completely sober for) ended up costing me a large chunk of one of my front teeth. I was mortified but immediately began trying to problem solve. I called friends for dentist refferals, scoured the internet and worked to get my weekend shifts at the restaurant covered so that I could escape to PA and hope that my dad would foot my dental bill, so that I could show my face in public anytime in the forseeable future.
This morning was a rough morning of fighting to get into see a dentist, getting an evaluation on the damage of my tooth, dealing with the pain, playing phone tag with my father and trying to find shift coverage for a few days. By noon, I was exhausted and in pain and decided too take a nap.
I set my alarm for 2:30 in order to make a 4pm sales meeting. When I awoke a few minutes early (2:19) I had a text message. The message was sent at 1, reminding me not to miss the sales meeting - at 2.
In the end, what was honestly a pretty understandable mistake (I’m missing HALF A FRONT FUCKING TOOTH AND AM TAKING PAIN KILLERS TILL I CAN SEE A GODDAMN DENTIST, FOR FUCKS SAKE) ended up causing my breakup ... the loss of the one thing I’ve truly loved during this long cold winter - my job at Jekyll & Hyde.
There’s so much more to be written about the past few months, and I plan to do a lot of it. I’m retreating to PA, to get my tooth fixed, and spend some time taking care of unresolved family issues. Neither sounds like a great time, but both are necessary in order for me to move on to what comes next.
What DOES come next?
I feel like what I need right now is something strong and solid. I need to be able to count on something. I need to find a way to find myself again. And then perhaps find happiness.
Thankfully even my life has a few constants. I have the best friend in the entire world. That’s a pretty great constant and I think some time spent with him might be just what the doctor ordered. It may be another form of self-medicating, but certainly a much healthier one.
Besides, just as a broken tooth requires attention and care to relieve the pain, so does a broken heart. And whether it's a whirlwind romance with a foreigner, a one-night-relationship with a cute 19 year old, or a 4 month relationship with a job you loved, when it comes right down to it - breaking up IS hard to do.
posted by Kevin at 11:39 PM
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